


the origins of a mythology

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Haikyuu Rarepair Weekend, Idk how to describe this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The myth is this: there is a god travelling with a prophet. They are on a quest to rewrite the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the origins of a mythology

**Author's Note:**

> I only found out about rarepair weekend last night and uh. this is, how you say, _my jam_.
> 
>  **prompt:** _"Opta ardua pennis astra sequi."_ (Desire to pursue the high stars on wings.) by Aeneas.

The myth is this: there is a god that lives atop the forested mountains, guarding the ancient trees and sacred spaces with a curious fire that winks like starlight.

The truth of it is this: Nishinoya Yuu is no god, but stars spill from his palms anyways and his chin is tilted perpetually upwards. He thinks he could reach the sky, aim for the heavens and snatch a place for himself among the constellations if he could stretch his arms high enough.

Instead he has parchments and ink and an unflinching gaze, and that is nearly enough. Every new stretch of sky becomes a new chart, or an addition to an old chart--the sky, Nishinoya has found, is always moving.

The mountaintop is Nishinoya’s current resting place in his quest to find a point high enough to touch the sky. His power is a leftover relic from something--a visiting spirit, maybe; a favor granted to his ancestors; a stroke of luck that makes him wildly _other_ in a way that is both compelling and excluding. He doesn’t stay in any place very long, but there are places that he comes back to--home, the place, is a small village where water bubbles alongside dirt roads and his childhood best friends greets him enthusiastically with every return.

Home, the feeling, is anywhere Nishinoya can watch the progress of the stars unobtrusively, where Nishinoya can release his power without worrying about hurting others or being feared.

What lights up his hands isn’t really stars--it’s a bit like dust, but a hundred times brighter and crackling with fire. Little explosions that could be stars, given the right circumstances and altitude. He keeps it to himself when he travels, but up here, Nishinoya is free to let it dance along his fingers and shoot skywards. They never make it high enough to be permanently etched into the sky, but Nishinoya watches them anyways and is proud anyways.

 

The myth is this: Ennoshita Chikara can foretell a person’s entire life and death with a single look.

The truth of it is this: sometimes Ennoshita will look at a person, and there will be a small flash behind his eyelids--a flicker of something mundane that could very well be the truth. An image of someone’s dinner; the color of a fading sunset and the word harvest; the scent of brine and sand. It is not something he brags about, because it isn’t something very useful--the future is finicky, and Ennoshita doesn’t provide guarantees. Most days, he doesn’t even provide the visions.

His mother was a seer, or maybe his aunt was; his dad’s account changes every so often, and her surviving family is in a different village that borders the mountains east of Ennoshita’s own home. The decision to leave his village to visit theirs isn’t so much presented to him as demanded of him--what use is a power if you don’t know how to control it?

Ennoshita wants to say that he doesn’t care to use it, but when he stares out at the vast fields of unbreakable greenery meeting the silvery darkness of the night sky, he wishes he _could_ do more. That he could make sense of the senseless scraps he’s presented with. It’s a strong, long-buried longing to _be_ something.

He leaves first when he’s eighteen, at the crest of the new year, and comes back not two months later, before spring has fully begun.

It’s sensible, Ennoshita’s told when he gets back. Because his mother’s family doesn’t take kindly to tepid agreements or almost decisions. To be a seer is an art, a responsibility that Ennoshita is no longer sure he wants to hold when he sees the intricacies of it, the weight of holding someone’s fate in your palms.

“Everything about the future is malleable,” his uncle tells him the very first day. He carries the air of hard-won wisdom, and crows linger in the trees near the house. They are unafraid of him, and he of them. “It’s simply a question of how much.”

Ennoshita has never believed in being able to change the world. On worse days, he hardly believes in being able to change himself.

Worse days win out.

His departure doesn’t seem to come as a surprise to his uncle, but his cousin implores him to stick it out a little longer. There aren’t many seers in the world, even fewer that have the discipline their art. Ennoshita knows Daichi wants to prefect this, but Daichi has determination that Ennoshita can only dream of.

“I can’t,” Ennoshita tells him, head bowed. “I can’t handle it.”

Daichi sighs, but lets it go. “We’ll still be here when you come back,” he says and Ennoshita nods. He doesn't know if it’s based in a prediction or if Daichi’s just being kind.

It’s sensible, Ennoshita thinks once he’s back home. It's a chant he reminds himself of as discontent grows in his chest. It's _sensible_.

He does not find being sensible fulfilling; it makes him restless, and the longing for the something more he almost touched comes back to him in fits.

When spring finally takes hold, he packs his bag and is back at his uncle’s, feeling foolish.

Daichi greets him with a grin, and his uncle looks like he expected this, too.

“Welcome back,” they say, and Ennoshita resists the urge to duck his head and hide.

“I’m back,” he answers.

 

Nishinoya’s newest mountain is one that is overflowing with life; even though Nishinoya has passed shrines with offerings and still-burning incense, it feels as if the only thing allowed in the forest are the plants and animals. The trail he’s following is competing with tree roots and Nishinoya has more than his fair share of bruises already. It’s the height of spring, and it smells like it: flowers and rainwater and honey.

He stops at a shrine farther up on the mountain; the last of its kind, probably, because the road ahead looks dangerous with rocks jutting savagely from the ground and the upended roots of trees.

Nishinoya bounces on his toes. It will be easy enough to clear a path, if the forest will let him. After he’s placed an offering and has wiped sweat from his forehead, Nishinoya lets a single spark light his palm.

The mountain answers it immediately; a push upwards from the wind, the leaves chorusing a welcome. Grinning, Nishinoya begins to pack his things up again.

Nishinoya doesn’t think he’s a god, but it’s nice of the forest to treat him like one anyways.

He’s walking out of the cover of the shrine when he quite literally bumps into someone walking in. The man is broad-shouldered and tan, and he reaches out a hand to steady Nishinoya with a concerned question of, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nishinoya says with a grin once he's regained his footing. “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you there.”

“Neither did I,” the man answers with a good-natured laugh. “Are you headed back to the village?”

“No,” Nishinoya says. He nudges his chin up. “I’m heading towards the peak.”

The man’s brows furrow. “What’s up there?”

Nishinoya has no idea and he says as much. This makes the other man blink, not in confusion, but as if Nishinoya’s said something he’s heard before.

“Are you sure you’ll get up there alright?”

“Yeah. The mountain doesn’t mind.”

The man grins. “What did you say your name was?”

“Nishinoya Yuu.”

“Ah, Nishinoya,” the man says in a way that sounds like he did know Nishinoya’s name, and had just forgotten in the moment. “I’m Daichi. How long are you going to be staying?”

Nishinoya shrugs. “Depends. I usually move every few weeks.”

“Just a thought,” Daichi says as he turns towards the shrine, “But I think you should ask the mountain to let you stay a little longer than that.”

Nishinoya turns this over in his mind; he carries no sense of urgency either way. “Why?”

Daichi grins. “Something that's bound to happen is heading your way.”

 

Ennoshita rests under the first large tree he sees, relieved at being able to take the weight off of his feet. It’s still morning, and Ennoshita is thankful for the light. His uncle has been sending him out as part of his training, to see how well he can work on his own, with people he’s never met. He’s been leaving more and more often, covering more and more distance, and Ennoshita doesn’t need his power to know that his training is coming to an end.

The thought leaves him bereft of a purpose; what does one do once the schooling is done? Ennoshita can’t imagine setting up a shop somewhere, but travelling is a lonely road, and what other options are there?

He’s still pondering this when he hears footsteps approaching. They’re heavy footsteps, and Ennoshita expects someone significantly bigger when he looks back towards the road. What he’s met with instead is a slight man dressed in the kind of lightweight yukata that will very quickly become impractical once the seasons change.

Ennoshita looks at him and there’s a flicker--of blackness, of brightness, of silence, of loudness. _You don’t have a future_ , is his first thought, but he quickly amends that to _you have every future._

Every time Ennoshita blinks, he sees something new: the brilliant light of a flame; the smell of wet earth and trees; the full sound of unbridled laughter; the stars, bending, bending to his will.

It’s a dizzying prospect for any person to hold, and Ennoshita closes his eyes, breathing evenly through his nose as he gets the visions under his control. The words rest on Ennoshita’s tongue: _excuse me, sir, but are you aware you have the unique ability to be anything at all?_

“Hey,” the stranger says, unaware of Ennoshita’s sudden vertigo. “D’you know the highest point in the area?”

It’s an odd question for a lot of reasons, but Ennoshita doesn’t pursue it. “No.”

“Huh,” the strangers says, gazing up with his hands at his hips. His eyes are overlarge and sharp; the kind of golden amber that Ennoshita expects from paintings, not people. “How hard d’you think it would be to climb that mountain?”

Ennoshita squints at the stranger, but it doesn’t look like he’s joking. Ennoshita turns to glance at the mountain--and has to crane his neck up, and up, even though the mountain is technically still in the distance. He judges it nearly as large as the mountains near his uncle’s home.

“I’m not an expert in mountain climbing,” Ennoshita says after a moment, “but I would guess very.”

“Huh,” the strangers says again, only this time he’s got his attention on Ennoshita instead. “What are you an expert in, then?”

Ennoshita spends a few minutes thinking over the question. “Nothing, really.”

An answering snort. “There’s nothing you know that other people wouldn’t?” He says this as if everyone has something like this, some small, secret knowledge that others them.

It’s the certainty in his voice that makes Ennoshita answer. “I can tell the future occasionally.”

“ _Whoa._ " Ennoshita is taken aback by how easily the stranger accepts this as truth. "You mean, the _future_ future?”

Ennoshita isn’t sure what the distinction is, so he shrugs. “With some accuracy, even.”

The stranger hums, sitting down next to Ennoshita. He’s smells like the aftereffects of the fires used to raze harvest fields--startlingly alive and smoky. “Can you tell my future?”

“For a price,” Ennoshita says, partially because it sounds good and partially because he’s running low on money. The harvest season has ended this far south so there’s no labor for him to help with in exchange for food and bed, and his uncle’s home is still a few days walk away.

“Are you heading to the next town?” the stranger asks, and when Ennoshita nods, the stranger smiles. “I’ll buy you dinner there, then.”

It’s as good a deal as any, so Ennoshita focuses on the stranger again, struggling to put words to the flashes, to make something useful from the images.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, so that he can better judge what he’s looking for.

“Will I get to the top of that mountain?” is the very politely asked question he’s presented with.

Ennoshita suppresses his laughter, and shifts through the images that come to him with the question. He’s surprised to see several mountains, and it takes him a few seconds to locate this mountain.

“Most likely,” Ennoshita acknowledges. “Why have you been climbing all these mountains?”

A delighted grin spreads across the stranger’s face, making his eyes glint. “I’m trying to create a new constellation.”

A beat of silence. “Are you,” Ennoshita asks dryly. At the strangers earnest nod, Ennoshita adds, “That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you can simply create.”

But then he remembers the nothing and the something in his very first vision, the collision of potential, and Ennoshita thinks that maybe he’s wrong.

The strangers grin changes into a cheeky, enchanting thing. “Of course it is. I’m Nishinoya Yuu. It’s nice to meetcha.”

Ennoshita’s smile feels much duller in comparison. “Ennoshita Chikara. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

 

The simple trip to go into town for food is made longer by Chikara stopping every so often to ask certain people if they would like their fortune told. There isn’t a pattern to it as far as Nishinoya can tell; Chikara will look at a person and tilt his head slightly before calling out to them.

Chikara speaks to them out of earshot of Nishinoya, who doesn’t at all mind; it means he can watch the softness of Chikara’s face as he speaks, the wonder that crosses the person’s face as Chikara reveals a glimpse of what’s to come. Sometimes he accepts payment, and sometimes he doesn’t; this too, has a pattern indiscernible to Nishinoya.

It’s well into the late afternoon by the time they get to the town Nishinoya is tangentially calling his own--it’s built into the mountain he’s currently residing on, and slopes gently upwards the further into town they get.

The lady at the inn is instantly smitten with Chikara, even before he tells her, unprompted, that her dog will likely return to town by sundown.

Nishinoya can relate. He has a feeling that he would have ended up walking with Chikara even if they hadn’t agreed to eat together. Nishinoya thinks this probably has a bit to do with magic, but more so because Chikara is a good person. He tells this to Chikara, who gives him a bewildered look overtop of their food.

“We just met,” Chikara says.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya agrees. He doesn’t think the knowledge is precluded by the timeline of their meeting.

Chikara gives him a long look. Nishinoya answers it with a grin.

“You’re very odd,” Chikara says finally.

“That’s rude to say to someone who’s buying you food,” Nishinoya replies. Chikara has the good grace to look chastised.

“This is a payment, though,” Chikara says. “The courtesies are different.”

Nishinoya speaks around his first bite. “Are you saying that you can be rude to me ‘cause I’m a customer? That seems like a bad business practice, Chikara.”

Chikara laughs; it’s a soft sound that demands to be heard despite the noise around them. “You aren’t a usual customer,” he says, then refuses to elaborate when Nishinoya asks what he means. They stay in the inn far longer than it takes for them to finish eating, and Nishinoya finds that this is preferable to wandering a mountainside alone.

He will climb that mountain eventually, though. It’s in his future, according to Chikara.

When Chikara mentions finding a place to sleep for the night, Nishinoya brightens.

“You can stay with me, if you’d like.”

And, wonder of wonders, Chikara agrees.

As they leave the shop, a dog begins barking. The innkeeper makes a little noise, looking in Chikara’s direction in surprise. He rubs the back of his neck.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been sent from that god, would you?” she asks fervidly.

Chikara blinks a few times. Nishinoya suppresses laughter.

“A god?” Chikara asks, politely masking his confusion with more politeness. It’s charming, Nishinoya decides.

He also decides it’s cute, but chooses not to dwell on that one.

The innkeeper nods, reaching to pick up the dog. “The one visiting our mountains.”

Nishinoya doesn’t listen to the rest. The last time he told someone in this village that it wasn’t a god, he was given a look that said he might need to pray to one if he thought otherwise.

His cue to pay attention again is when Chikara bows in thanks. Nishinoya hastens to follow before leading Chikara past the village, to the base of the forest that leads first to a shrine, second to another shrine. Nishinoya lives well past both.

“You live up there?” Chikara asks. It’s hard to tell if he’s impressed or just taken aback.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says.

Chikara narrows his eyes. “You’re the one, then,” he says, as if Nishinoya had been intentionally keeping the secret from him, “The god that the villagers talk about.”

“I’m not a god,” Nishinoya corrects. He’s said it often enough that he can’t understand why the myth sticks.

“Of course not,” Chikara says with a perfectly flat expression. It’s impossible to tell if he believes Nishinoya or not. But then Chikara grins, says, “Gods are much taller.”

Nishinoya sputters indignantly, jabbing Chikara in the side in lieu of a response. It prompts a surprised laugh from him, a louder and less restrained one than the one from the inn.

“Are you coming or not?” Nishinoya asks.

“How long does it take to get to the top?” Chikara asks.

“I’m not all the way at the top,” Nishinoya hedges. He's afraid the answer will mean Chikara won't come. He doesn't really have visitors no matter where he’s set up, and the idea of having someone as interesting as Chikara visiting makes Nishinoya excited.

But he's used to being alone and he won't force a point. “But I’m sure the innkeeper will find you a room, if you ask.”

Nishinoya refuses to believe he sounds disappointed.

Chikara looks at him, and then the mountain. He gives a helpless little shrug. “Lead the way.”

 

Ennoshita doesn’t mean to stay with Nishinoya. It’s one of those things he doesn’t notice has happened until he’s already too far entangled to do anything about it. This moment, for Ennoshita, is a little over two weeks later, when he’s coming back from the village after sending a newly scripted letter to his uncle stating the reason for the delay in his return, and how he should expect him in the next week.

The fact that he owes him a return is made harder to complete by the sheer captivating nature of Nishinoya’s home. 

For one, it is filled with star charts. Ennoshita almost thinks he’s walked into the wrong place except that there is something about it that is clearly _Nishinoya_ \--splattered parchment, the smell of smoke, an air of recklessness in the organization of everything. There is a telescope, and a journal overflowing with notes. Ennoshita spends several hours just absorbing the work Nishinoya’s already done.

“Why do you want to make a new constellation?” he asks.

Nishinoya looks at him as if he’s been asked why he’s decided to breathe today, and Ennoshita lets the moment pass.

The second is Nishinoya himself. Ennoshita has seen him shoot fire skywards, has seen the way the forest seems to answer to Nishinoya’s thoughts.

These are not what interests Ennoshita, except in the fact that they are objectively interesting. What interests Ennoshita is how Nishinoya brims with power, yet never once looks at anyone or anything like they’re lesser.

What interests Ennoshita is how Nishinoya is fascinated by Ennoshita’s own power, how he enjoys accompanying Ennoshita when he goes to the villages nearby to sell his services.

What interests Ennoshita is how his whole body seems to relax and warm when Nishinoya is around, but Ennoshita tries not to think too hard about that one.

“Are you leaving?” Nishinoya asks when Ennoshita gets back. He’s collapsed on the floor, one of his many charts pinned above him.

“Yes, but I’ll be back,” Ennoshita says, because he will be. Nishinoya is not the sort of person Ennoshita can imagine staying away from for a long time.

The answer satisfies Nishinoya; he doesn’t get up, but he does grin at Ennoshita. “Where’re you going?”

Ennoshita picks up a trinket he bought while in the village, debating on packing it and ultimately deciding on leaving it. In the back of his mind, he thinks that it’s probably because he wants to have a concrete reason to return here, rather than focus on the feeling that he’ll be somewhat incomplete without Nishinoya. “My uncle’s.”

“The one who taught you?” At Ennoshita’s nod, Nishinoya asks, “Can I come?”

Ennoshita’s heart does an inexplicable stutter-step-burst in his chest. “Do you want to?”

Nishinoya pouts; he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to, Ennoshita knows.

“Yes,” Ennoshita says immediately. His ears redden, but he repeats himself, taking care to speak slower, like his heart hasn’t betrayed how much he would like that. “Yes, of course.”

 

Chikara begins acting weirdly when they set off for the trip to his uncle’s house. They’re a day away when Chikara finally answers Nishinoya’s questions of what’s wrong with him.

“Traditionally,” Chikara says as they’re stopping to rest in a field overgrown with wildflowers and high grass that tickles Nishinoya’s exposed calves. These are the last of the summer days, and Nishinoya knows it from the way the flowers that remain are a scattered few among drying grass. Nishinoya throws his own stuff down, and then himself, flattening a place for him and Chikara to place their futons. “Gods and human fortunetellers end up at odds, don’t they.”

Nishinoya frowns. “I’m not a god,” he points out, “And I dunno why I would ever be at odds with you.”

Chikara doesn’t acknowledge this; he rolls out his futon with small, measured movements. “I’m just saying,” he says, in a soft voice that immediately makes Nishinoya worried, “that the future tends to play out predictably.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Nishinoya asks, rolling so that he’s half on top of Chikara’s newly unfurled futon, “The future?”

Chikara presses his lips together in a flat line. “I’m always worried about the future,” he says. His expression is too heavy for the levity of his tone.

Nishinoya reaches out to smooth the line between Chikara’s eyebrows, then lets his fingers trace the outline of Chikara’s face, the curve of his cheek and the slope of his nose. Chikara leans into his touch, a movement so slight that Nishinoya is sure Chikara isn’t aware of it.

His fingers stay cupped on Chikara’s right cheek. “What did you see?”

Chikara’s soft exhale tickles the skin of Nishinoya’s wrist. “In general, or specifically?”

“Both. Either. Whichever is bothering you most.”

The muscles under Nishinoya’s fingers move as a faint, amused smile dances across Chikara’s face. The sun is almost gone, now; muddied tendrils of pink are being overtaken by the purples and blues of the night. Nishinoya should light something before the dark completely overtakes them, but that would mean letting go of Chikara’s cheek, and that is suddenly something completely out of Nishinoya’s abilities.

Chikara’s eyes fall closed as he leans all the way into Nishinoya’s fingers. It sparks something warm and terrified and wonderful in Nishinoya’s chest, like the jumping starlight that appears from his palms.

Between the two, Nishinoya is abruptly aware that he would prefer Chikara.

“I’ve stopped being able to see your future,” Chikara says.

“Ah,” Nishinoya says. He hopes that doesn’t mean death. Nishinoya’s only just touched Chikara’s cheek, and to end it there seems profoundly unfair. “What’s that mean?”

“It could mean a couple of things,” Chikara says, evidently unwilling to expand on that. Nishinoya abandons Chikara’s cheek to tug him down, and Chikara gives in surprisingly quickly. The futon is too small for both of them, but neither of them move to fix this.

“The first thing,” Chikara says, his cheek pressed against the futon, “is that my power has stopped working.”

Nishinoya frowns. He is fairly certain that Chikara was doing his fortunetelling no differently today than any other day. “But that’s not it?”

Chikara agrees with a hum. After a moment, Chikara tentatively takes the hand Nishinoya left lying between their bodies with his own hand. He fits their palms together snugly.

“The second thing,” he continues when Nishinoya doesn’t shake him off, “is that you are about to make a decision that will inextricably change the course of your life.”

Nishinoya isn’t quite certain what that means, but just to be sure, he asks, “That doesn’t mean death, right?”

Chikara’s lips quirks into a small smile. “No. It means you’re going to make a life-changing decision.”

“Oh,” Nishinoya says. The most life-changing thing he’s ever done is talk to Chikara, and he did that weeks ago. “I think we’re good, then.”

Chikara nods slowly. He stares at their hands, and Nishinoya stares at him.

Above them, the grass sways with the gentle breeze. Nishinoya’s never thought of the grass having a sound, but this close, now, he can heard the soft _sch-sch_ of grass rubbing against flower stalks. It’s the kind of sound that would be easy to fall asleep to.

“The last thing,” Chikara says, pressing his nose into the futon and closing his eyes, “also has to do with my powers.”

Chikara inhales deeply. Twice. He looks unsure, and it’s scaring Nishinoya just a little bit.

He really hopes it’s not death.

“The only other reason I would stop being able to see into someone else’s future,” Chikara starts, speaking mostly into the futon, “is because it reveals too much of my own.”

“Oh,” Nishinoya says. Understanding trickles slowly, and then crashes in all at once. He feels like he should say more, but his mind has gone completely blank for possibly the first time in his entire life. No words, just a jumble of fuzzy warmth and awe starting from their joined palms and effortlessly spreading into the rest of him.

Nishinoya nudges himself forward until their noses touch gently. He bumps them together twice, until Chikara lets out a soft laugh. Nishinoya smiles affectionately, helpless to the fondness nestling in his chest.

“I think that’s the one,” he says.

“Yeah?” Chikara asks, voice a whisper that could easily be whisked away by the wind.

It doesn’t, though, because Nishinoya’s the one listening.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya answers, letting the word melt onto Chikara’s lips. He's certain that's the one.

 

The myth is this: there is a god travelling with a prophet. They are on a quest to rewrite the stars.

The truth of it is this: Nishinoya sometimes singes his own clothing with his carelessness, and Ennoshita sometimes doesn’t sleep for days straight because of his visions. When Ennoshita does sleep, Nishinoya will without fail found a way to end up the big spoon regardless of how they fell asleep. Nishinoya thinks Ennoshita has the best laugh, but Ennoshita will argue this point. They return to some places frequently, and some places not at all.

They are looking for the highest point in Japan. They are on a quest to rewrite the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been staring at this doc for nearly 24 hours straight, so please forgive any mistakes (I will likely edit it later in the week)!
> 
> I kind of ran much, much farther with this idea than I thought I would, so uh. I'd like to know what you all think!! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are hugely appreciated :)


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